Chapter 78

 

At first, it was just a small village.

The first time was hard, but after that, it became easier. I pushed aside the inner turmoil that told me this was wrong, and with a few gestures, I sent many people to the heavens.

When I first embarked on this path—dreaming of becoming a great dark mage and setting out to save Evan—I felt a pang of sorrow each time someone died.

Now, I could somewhat understand Evan’s mindset when he casually dissolved people in the academy.

What once seemed horrifying—killing without hesitation—now felt like second nature when seen from a dark mage’s perspective.

Human lives no longer appeared as human lives.

They were merely sacrifices—tools to be used.

It was simple if you thought of it that way.

Just as the enemy wasn’t seen as human during wars against communists, these people who wished for Evan’s death were no different.

They were just talking, wretched insects.

I didn’t speak to them.

Talking to them would make me realize they were human.

I avoided observing their surroundings.

Seeing how they lived would make what I was doing feel cruel and unnecessary.

I didn’t let myself wonder if Evan was more important than all these people dying. If I started thinking that, I might collapse on the spot.

So, I forgot.

I didn’t call it murder when I killed people.

I called it hunting or punishment.

It was simple if I thought of it that way.

These acts had always existed in human history.

Exterminating a traitor’s bloodline wasn’t murder.

Those related to traitors carried rebellious blood, so they weren’t truly human.

Witch hunts weren’t murder.

For the faithful, it was only natural—witches weren’t human and deserved death.

Executing people through revolutionary tribunals wasn’t murder.

Reactionaries weren’t human; they were leeches sucking the lifeblood of the people, so they had to be eradicated.

Communists weren’t human.

They were too stupid to be considered the same species and were pests that would try to kill humans if left unchecked.

With this rationalization, I moved from killing hundreds to slaughtering thousands with my own hands.

That’s when skeletons started following me.

These skeletons would kill village guards, steal their spears and armor, and follow me to protect me.

As I passed through more villages, I earned a nickname: “The Dark Mage’s Whore.”

Honestly, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. I was constantly asking about Evan, gathering information about his situation wherever I went.

From a broad perspective, marriage could be mocked as nothing more than a prostitution contract where one promises to spread their legs for a single man.

For people who wanted to raise their own children rather than someone else’s, it was an appealing proposition but also a shackle.

Perhaps I’m being too cynical.

In any case, it didn’t matter much.

Lately, I had over a hundred skeletons following me.

I encountered knights—startled to see me—who seemed to recognize me, likely from Evan’s household.

Once, I used my telekinesis, which had only been strong enough to lift a piece of chocolate, to throw a knight clad in full armor into a river.

He probably drowned.

I mean, how could anyone swim or float in such heavy armor?

Not my concern.

What I cared about was the strange, cognitively dissonant creature pointing its sword at me.

It happened while I was hunting.

I had just drained the life force from a woman and thrown her to the ground, stepping on her neck.

Hearing no satisfying crack, I stomped several times until her bones twisted, and she finally died, her toes curling upward.

Her trembling right hand still clutched a bag full of sweet potatoes.

Since I hadn’t been eating well lately, I didn’t take the whole bag. I took one and slipped it into my pocket.

The rest? I left them as company for her journey to the afterlife.

Wherever that might be, she’d probably get hungry along the way.

The dark figure watching me frowned.

Judging by the blood on its long sword, it had killed its share of people too.

Though I’m sure it had only killed sinners.

Am I a sinner? Who knows.

What baffles me is how someone decided to teach a dark-skinned freak like that how to wield a sword—and didn’t even leash it.

I’ve seen it before, and I still can’t understand it.

I know there are crazies who breed goats and horses, but raising their offspring lovingly?

“Are you Erica?”

Unbelievable. It even spoke informally.

I’d realized last time that no one had taught it basic manners, but hearing it again was infuriating.

I wasn’t a slave to be spoken to like that by some dark-skinned thing.

Every time, it feels like common sense is being violated—like watching dolphins create a civilization and take over the world.

“If you’re livestock, put on a leash and get back to the plantation to pick cotton. Why are you asking for names?”

“You’re as crazy as they said.”

“If you speak like that to your master, not just your hand but your whole family should be stoned to death. Hahaha.”

My words seemed to trigger some kind of trauma; its expression twisted.

I said nothing more and just watched.

Some skeletons grew impatient and charged at it with spears.

But there was no contest.

Ordinary humans could be pierced and killed, but what could skeletons do against a beast in full plate armor, wielding a long sword with such speed?

So, pretending to be relaxed, I sat on a skeleton and cast spells while secretly preparing to flee.

“Tell your master, Vivian, that Evan and I want to talk.

If she doesn’t listen, I’ll keep roaming and killing every innocent person I come across.”

“Do you think she’ll heed such words?”

I nodded, smirking at the dark-skinned freak.

“Yes. You have to stay in one place, but I don’t.”

It seemed they hadn’t brought horses.

Plenty of chances to escape, then.

“You think we can’t track down cursed heretics like you, no matter where you run?”

“Hearing a dark-skinned freak speak so eloquently is giving me whiplash.”

I whistled, and a golden retriever came bounding toward me.

It had lost its left eye, likely from being a toy for village kids, but its legs worked fine, and it ran swiftly—even carrying me.

Much more useful than my pet rock.

The dog licked my face enthusiastically instead of letting me mount.

I pushed it away, climbed onto its back, and smacked its flank. It yelped before dashing off.

The skeletons would follow, or they wouldn’t—it didn’t matter much.

From behind, I heard shouts like, “Stop!” or “Are you running away?” but I ignored them.

Anyway, no matter how ridiculous their shouting was, how could I possibly win?

Even if I thrust a spear at them, it wouldn’t penetrate. A sword swung at them would likely be blocked with nothing but a bare arm.

Someone like me? I’d be cleaved in half in an instant by that massive sword.

I’d be running into them often from now on—Vivian, that dark-skinned swordsman, or perhaps the so-called great Northern Duke.

I’m heading to the imperial capital to meet Evan.

He saved me when I was on the brink of death—when my limbs were torn apart, and my eyes were crushed. I owe him a debt I must repay.

If some unnecessary and unfortunate sacrifices occur along the way, that’s Vivian’s fault.

She pushed Evan and me to this point, gave us no room to breathe. Like a cornered rat biting the cat and desperately trying to escape, it’s only natural.

“When we meet again, I’d like to kick her in the shins first.

Though, come to think of it, I only have one leg left.”

I muttered to myself, laughing with a dry chuckle.

Was I talking to myself because I was lonely?

A solitary existence.

Still, I’ll see Evan soon.

If thousands aren’t enough, I’ll offer tens of thousands of sacrifices to meet him.

Evan has already offered countless things to come to me.

When the world gave him no opportunities or hope as he was ripped apart and died over and over again, it only started to grant something when he began harvesting the lives of others to offer them.

I chewed on the raw sweet potato the woman I’d just killed had been holding, smiling as I did so.

It wasn’t cooked, so it tasted terrible, but I was probably smiling right now.

The same kind of smile Evan might have.

I headed toward the next village.

Not on my own legs, of course, but on the dog carrying me.

Should I name it?

Evan already has his name, so let’s call this one Ivan.

Stupid Ivan.

The way it whines and wags its tail at people, even after being stoned and tormented by those devilish kids, reminds me of Ivan.

“Ivan, run.”

At my command, Ivan barked once and sped up.

What a smart dog.

It already understands me.

Ivan cleverly avoided knights whenever we encountered them, steering clear without me needing to say a word, and brought me to a village bustling with children.

It was almost as if, even as a mere dog, Ivan sought revenge on the humans who had tormented him—through me.